


Lilac

by tolstayas



Category: Anna Karenina - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, also there's a carol (2015) reference in here because i'm a big lesbian, annaxkitty, au where lydia ivanovna doesn't exist, i haven't read the book in a while so there are probably a bajillion mistakes, in which anna is redeemable because i love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolstayas/pseuds/tolstayas
Summary: Kitty had been seeing Anna every day and was in love with her, and had always imagined her in lilac.Spring, 1876. Anna is living in Moscow, more alone than she has ever been. She is desperate. And perhaps Kitty is desperate, too, although some things are better left unsaid.





	1. Birdsong at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Set near the end of Part 7, after Anna and Vronsky's row but before the fateful visit to Dolly.

Before it was anything, it was a knocking at Anna’s bedroom window in the middle of the night.

 

She woke with a shudder.

 

The dreams she had on nights like those couldn't be called nightmares. No; dullness and domesticity - age, too, she supposed - had tampered with her, softened her, so that the dreams themselves were only pulsations, the sound of her own heart beating, her own breath coming and going, her own body expending itself into the dark. From these dreams she would wake shivering day after day, never crying, never calling out - but with a dreadful feeling of unease that she could never quite place.

 

She woke with a shudder and lay there wide-eyed in the dark, motionless, wondering what had awakened her.

 

Then she heard it. A thud as something knocked into the wood of the window frame. A few seconds later, a sharp crack, something hard hitting the glass pane itself.

 

Anna slid out of bed and stood up, rather unsteadily, holding a hand out in front of her lest she should trip and fall in the gloom. She tiptoed towards the window, smoothed the front of her nightgown and ran a hand through her hair. Then, gingerly, she twisted the knob and swung open the window.

 

Silence. The night spread like a blanket over the sleeping city. Frost on the window panes. A cool breeze blowing into the bedroom, rustling the curtains. Wagon wheels, far off. Then, a cry.

 

“Anna!”

 

Her heart pounding, she searched for the voice. Her eyes fell upon a figure on the street beneath the window. She recognized her caller immediately. There - there, only steps from the house, wrapped in furs and smiling gently - was none other than Princess Ekaterina Alexandrovna Shcherbatskaya. Whose name, Anna reminded herself, since her marriage, was Ekaterina Levina now. But it mattered so little.

 

Anna gasped. “Kitty!”

 

“Oh, I’m so glad it was you I awakened, and not that… that man. Vronsky,” giggled Kitty, hiding a grin in her palm. “With all due respect, of course.”

 

“I had been expecting a bird,” whispered Anna, slowly, softly, wondering if she could perhaps be dreaming, still. She thought to herself, well, it is not that far off after all. A girl whose voice sounds like birdsong. How strange.

 

“Oh dear, I hate to disappoint you. But I’m afraid you got me instead.”

 

“Did you drive here on your own?”

 

Kitty giggled again, perhaps nervously, perhaps only naturally. “Well, who else would have driven me, at this hour?”

 

“Shall I…” something prickled in Anna’s throat. “I’ll come downstairs. I must properly receive you. But - oh, I’m in my nightgown!”

 

“No bother,” Kitty laughed, waving a dismissive hand, “We are friends, after all. No need to dress for a ball.”

 

Anna smiled at that, and inched the window shut before stumbling through the bedroom door and down the stairs.

 

When she finally opened the door she found Kitty waiting, a bouquet of wildflowers in her arms, cheeks red from driving in the wind and dimpled with exuberant joy. Anna had been preparing at least a semblance of an eloquent welcome in her head as she turned the key and unhooked the latch; but, seeing the flowers, she unexpectedly broke into tears.

 

“Oh… oh, Kitty… you are so kind… kinder than anyone…”

 

At that, Kitty dropped the bouquet and reached forward. She wrapped her slight arms around her friend's neck; her furs, half-undone, draped themselves over Anna’s shoulders. Anna crumpled in her arms. A moment passed. Kitty broke away to close the door behind her. Anna sighed, deeply and mournfully.

 

“Kitty, dear… my goodness, what were you thinking, visiting at this hour of the night?”

 

“Forgive me for this, but I couldn’t bear to have Count Vronsky thinking I came to call on _him_.”

 

“I understand." Anna whispered, slowly. "But you shouldn't have taken the trouble, he never comes here anymore...” Scarcely had the words left her mouth than Anna began to cry once more.

 

“Anna. Anya, my Anya. God, what has he done to you?” Kitty, flustered and concerned, grabbed Anna’s hands and pulled them close to her chest.

 

“Nothing.” Anna sobbed. Then, taking a breath: “He has done nothing. I love him. But I am constantly doing myself harm.”

 

Kitty frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

 

“Kitty, oh please, do not let my condition shock you… pay me no mind, I beg of you… but oh, dear, all things being as they are… oh, God forgive me, but I should desperately like to be rid of it all, all of this.” Anna avoided mentioning death. She did not wish to think about it.

 

“Anna. You are so dear to me. You always have been.”

 

“And you to me... you are so young.” Anna choked on her words. Kitty was so pretty, so ethereal - what terrible thing had brought her here? And whatever was keeping her?

 

“I should have warned you. He hurts everyone he touches, in the end.” Kitty's eyes were stormy.

 

“It is not his fault. I have done this to myself… I have been so stupid, so frivolous…” Anna fell back into a chair. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

Kitty knelt by her side, holding her hand. Thinking, oh, even when she is miserable she is so elegant. Graceful. Like a swan. For a moment there was silence. Kitty inched closer to her friend. “Come with me,” she whispered. “Let’s disappear for the night. I will take you home. You cannot stay here.”

 

“And I cannot leave.”

 

“But of course you can. You must.”

 

Anna leaned back in her chair. The curve of her trembling lips, the nape of her pale neck woven with the coal-black strands of her hair, the outlines of her frail wrists – the whole of her seemed to glow softly, divinely in the dim candlelight.

 

“I cannot. He would never forgive me.”

 

“It is not right... it is not right that anyone, much less a man such as the Count, should confine such a beautiful woman in such a terrible state. You need some relief.”

 

“A good lover would not need relief,” Anna sobbed.

 

“I disagree. Everyone needs relief, even the most passionate of lovers. That, if nothing else, is something we must all forgive ourselves for.”

 

“You are an idealist. He would never believe such things.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Come with me,” Kitty whispered. "Just a few days. He'll never know."

 

Silence.

 

"I refuse to leave you here. Look at you, you're shivering.”

 

Anna closed her eyes. Sighed. Gave in, at last, though in a way she had known all along that it would go like this. “Alright. Alright, I will try. For you, I will try.”

 

They hardly brought anything with them, only a coat and a change of clothes.

 

And so Anna stepped into Kitty's carriage. Her cheeks were still wet. The last of her tears glistened on her eyelashes. She smiled, raw and grateful.


	2. All Happy Families

Kitty, who had been driving all night, was falling asleep before the pair had even made it out of Moscow; so they switched places and Anna drove, smiling down every once in a while at her sleeping companion.

 

When Kitty awoke, dawn was breaking. She stirred and stretched her slender arms, then sat up and looked around to see where they had got to. Before she could get her bearings, though, her eye was caught by the woman sitting beside her. Kitty realized she had never seen Anna drive before. Her dark hair was loose and wild in the wind, and her throat was bare, her expensive, fashionable fur coat falling open to reveal the laced top of her nightgown. Her cheeks were pink from cold, her eyes glittering, lips red. Kitty had never seen a creature more ravishing.

 

"Good morning," Anna smiled.

 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Kitty gestured at the horizon, at the clouds tinged pink and yellow.

 

"Lovely. I have missed seeing the sunrise... I haven't been awake at dawn for the longest time."

 

"We're nearly there, aren't we?" Kitty, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, began to notice the familiar landscape surrounding them.

 

Anna nodded. "We passed Alexei's estate not ten minutes ago."

 

It wasn't long before Anna stopped the carriage and the two walked, arm in arm, up the well-tended garden path to the front door of the Levins' homestead. Kitty knocked, Anna standing behind her.

 

Konstantin Levin swung open the door, half-dressed for the coming day's work, one boot on and the other on the floor beside him.

 

"Why, hello!" he smiled, genial, kind. "I didn't expect you to be back from town this early!"

 

"Oh, Kostya. I have wonderful news! Our lovely friend from Moscow is to stay with us awhile. It'll do her a world of good, don't you think?" Kitty gushed.

 

"Of course." But his tone was different, suddenly. Konstantin peered over Kitty's shoulder at Anna.

 

Suddenly self-conscious, Anna pulled her coat firmly around her to hide her nightgown, but the effort was futile. Her collar fell open again, and her cheeks reddened with embarrassment as she apologized for the state of her attire.

 

Seeing her, disheveled as she was - so different from the cool and collected society woman she had seemed in Moscow - Levin's features were softened by pity. He knew that the woman before him was Anna as she was, and not Anna as she would have been; the contrast was striking. He looked down at the ground in contemplation. Only those who suffer horribly, he thought, could ever be inclined to resort to such desperate artificiality as could turn a mourner into a socialite... He nodded gently. "Yes, of course. How wonderful. I do hope you enjoy yourself here."

 

Anna smiled. It seemed genuine. "I hope for the same, Monsieur. My deepest thanks for your hospitality."

 

Levin pulled on his second boot and reached for his coat. "I assure you, it is my pleasure. Now, if you will excuse me..." He slipped the coat over his shoulders and paused to give his young wife a kiss on the cheek before striding out the door and towards the fields.

 

"Oh dear," sighed Kitty as soon as he was out of earshot. "I'm afraid he forgot to ask us in. He can be rather absent-minded, but it's all in good faith, you know..." She giggled. "I hope he hasn't offended you. People don't behave quite as they do in Moscow, down here. You know how it is."

 

"He is a lovely man, Kitty. You are very lucky."

 

Kitty smiled. She seemed positively to glow.

 

The two were barely in the door before she exclaimed: "Oh, you _must_ meet Mitya!"

 

Anna remembered, of course, the news of Kitty having given birth. She remembered the moment she had been told. The odd sort of feeling that had filled her chest even as she had smiled so widely, even as she had gasped so politely and made all her little exclamations of joy and surprise.

 

There had been a sort of disconnect. A rift between the voice on the outside that gasped and exclaimed and the voice on the inside, that was silent. No, not silent. Sighing. Sighing a long sigh.

 

It _was_ a happy thing, really. Or rather, it should have been. A son! Good news, at least, at a time when such things were so scarce and so precious. And the thought of Kitty - oh, the thought of Kitty a mother, happy and in love, shining in her domesticity - should at least have been a comfort to a woman like her, in such a condition.

 

And yet - but why? - the feeling had remained. The sigh. It was heavy, Anna remembered. She had needed to sit down soon afterwards, and found it difficult, almost, to breathe. It was draining. It was like longing - this, also, she remembered. Like a terrifying great magnet drawing her forward and outward to she knew not where. It was, she thought, like homesickness, in a strange way.

 

Kitty dragged her up a flight of stairs and into a bright clean room. That feeling, Anna realized, that sigh - it was gone now. With Kitty's hand in hers she smiled and laughed and felt no disconnect, no artificiality. The early sunlight streamed into the room through a large window. Kitty bent down and lifted the bundle named Mitya out of his cradle.

 

The child stirred, fists waving languorously through the sunlit air, eyelids fluttering. And Anna, looking down at the creature, the infant Kitty held so gently on her hip in her slender arms, felt happy - truly happy, filled with the feeling in a way she hadn't been in a long time, and even proud, if a touch wistful.

 

"He's beautiful," she breathed, cupping his soft cheek affectionately in her hand. "I'm so glad he's healthy."

 

Kitty smiled. It was a smile Anna had never seen on her before, a strong smile, proud, confident. A mother's smile, Anna realized.

 

Kitty pressed her lips to the child's downy forehead, and the boy grinned a honey-sweet, toothless grin. Anna felt her heart swell. 

 

"Sometimes I wish I could have been a better mother," she sighed.

 

Even as she said it she knew she shouldn't have. She held a hand over her mouth and blushed, a deep red.

 

What place did such confessions have between two friends like themselves? And at a moment like this, a moment that should have been so happy! Even if it hadn't been such an awfully, dreadfully intimate thing to say - she shouldn't have ruined Kitty's mood so. As she watched Kitty's face fall, her brows furrow and her soft lips curl into a frown, Anna felt a stiffening pang of regret. She shouldn't have. Kitty was so lovely when she was happy.

 

And yet it was something about the light, somehow, that drew the confessions from her. Something about the light and the way it fell through the window and shone like gold on the locks of hair that tumbled over Kitty's shoulders; the way it made her lips glisten, the way it outlined her delicate eyelashes and the youthful curve of her cheek, the way it made her bright eyes shine ever brighter.

 

Anna was silent.

 

"Oh, but Anna, you _will_ help me with little Mitya, won't you?" Kitty asked. Breaking the silence. The brief, eternal silence.

 

Anna didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to think.

 

"It's been so hard for you, all of it. But I think you were - you are still - a wonderful mother," she went on. "All you need is a fair chance, really. Wouldn't you say?" 

 

Anna was speechless still. Gently, Kitty lifted the bundle in her arms, held it out for Anna to take. 

 

Anna reached out. She cradled the child. She didn't speak, not yet. But slowly, slowly, a smile spread across her face. A strong smile, proud, confident. A mother's smile. 

 

And Kitty smiled too, the most charming of smiles, bright and sunny and youthful - because it was then that she knew, finally, that Anna would be alright. That everything would be alright.

 

The woman she remembered - that woman who glowed and sparkled and stole everyone's hearts at balls and on train carriages - she still existed. After all that had happened, after all she had done and all that had been done to her, this was still the woman Kitty knew, admired, even loved. And here they both were. Together.


	3. Nothing But Blue Skies

And so it was. They made a habit of it, a sort of ritual.

 

Kitty would come - at a decent hour, now, fearing nothing - and stable her horses with Anna, and spend a few days in town doing errands, and sleep in a spare bedroom.

 

They wrote each other - every week at first, then every other day or more. Sweet, empty letters, full of trivial news and pressed flowers and well-wishes. When Kitty arrived the two of them would read to each other in the evenings, play quatre-mains, sometimes sing. Anna began to look forward to her visits, if only for something to look forward to. She dusted and polished and prepared menus days before, bought flowers, a sort of nostalgia for the thrill of parties and Petersburg society. They would dance, occasionally, the pair twirling and tripping in the cramped drawing-room, stumbling into sofa legs and lampshades.

 

Anna remembered that Kitty had once said something about lilac dresses, and began to wear the colour more often, half-hoping Kitty would notice.

 

Once Kitty, calling on the Tsverskoys, ran into Vronsky. She recognized him at once, and went pale; but he noticed her before she could do anything, and she went to him and made pleasant conversation. She avoided mentioning Anna. _He never comes here anymore_ , Kitty remembered her saying.

 

Nothing came of it in the end. She never spoke of it to Anna, thinking it better to avoid the subject of Vronsky altogether. All in all, it was relatively eventless. She bought dresses, shoes, things from the market... and left. Moscow seemed to have forgotten her. Well, so be it, she thought. I've made my choice; I have no regrets.

 

And, the few days in town spent, Kitty would saddle up her horses, and the two would head out to the countryside together; and, another few days having gone by, Anna would ride back alone, whenever she felt that she should.

 

But Anna never really wanted to leave, and she began to stay longer and longer, until she barely ever rode back herself, and only went along with Kitty when she went into town to do her errands, city life becoming less and less familiar to the both of them; the two of them slowly losing a world that had never truly been theirs.

 

Occasionally, the children were mentioned. Seryozha and Anya. Anna's children. Once, a few months after the first visit, Kitty broached the topic with a new sense of resolve.

 

"You miss them," Kitty frowned. Solemn.

 

"Yes."

 

"I could write him." A decisive tone. "Alexey. I'll tell him everything. He forgives you. He will have pity."

 

"I don't want pity. I want liberty."

 

"I know... I know."

 

"But -"

 

"There is only so much that can be done," Kitty sighed.

 

Anna nodded.

 

And so it was. They made an arrangement. She and Alexey even talked, civilly. The children were overjoyed, even little Anya who barely knew her mother, her namesake. They agreed it would not be the last time. Anna felt as if something cold and heavy had been lifted out of her.

 

Anna had always been aristocratic and metropolitan, had always been accustomed to servants and ball gowns and apéritifs; but she soon grew to love the country. Here, far from it all, there was sunlight. The city sky was too often grey, cloudy, fogged-over and soot-black. In the country, in the Levins' fields and orchards, the sun shone; when it rained it rained, but after the rain there was always a rainbow, always nothing but blue skies. It was honest weather; the clouds in town were too ominous, loomed too darkly all the time, threatening always, though it rarely rained straight-out.

 

Rare was that kind of crisp winter afternoon in the city, the kind it had been when Levin saw Kitty skating and knew at once he would marry her. Anna heard about this, and many other stories too, the three of them sitting wrapped in rough, thick blankets around the fireplace; she smiled when they told her these things, felt her heart stir a little, like the earth does when the rivers thaw in the springtime.

 

Time in Moscow had passed slowly, endlessly waiting, endlessly hoping for release from this waiting, this suffocating sense of dread. But in the countryside, with the poetic rhythm of the days, awake at dawn and back home at dusk; and with the pleasant, regular carriage-ride to Moscow or Peter and back, time flew by on silver wings.

 

Spring had been a blur, soft greens and blues, mud and birdsong; Summer was a single, vaguely remembered sun-drenched afternoon, a picnic in the grass and Kitty dressed in white. They watched the sun set in the evenings, the three of them and Mitya, the sky orange and magenta and navy and black. Anna saw her own children more often. Then, in the blink of an eye, Spring and Summer were gone, and Autumn - rain, smell of earth, birches flaming orange - was nearing its end.

 

"Will you stay for Christmas, Anya?" Kitty asked her one night as Anna stoked the fire, heating water for Mitya's bath. She had grown accustomed to country life far more quickly than she would have expected.

 

Anna paused. "I suppose so," she nodded. "If you'll have me, that is."

 

"But of course! We are family..."

 

Mitya whimpered from his crib. Anna scooped him up, held him to her breast as Kitty soaked a cloth in the bathwater. The child giggled.

 

"He is getting so big now," Anna whispered. "He is strong and beautiful. You must be proud."

 

"Oh, I am," replied Kitty, softly. "I have never been so proud in all my life. Sometimes it makes me want to cry. I am so happy."

 

Anna smiled at that, just as softly.

 

"But what was I saying?" Kitty tilted her head inquisitively. "Oh, yes, family. You are family to us, Anya. Perhaps not in blood, but you are more than a mother to Mitya; and as for Kostya and myself - you are so dear to us," she smiled.

 

Anna smiled back again gratefully. At a loss for words.

 

"You are terribly dear to me, as well," she sighed, finally. "Never forget that."

 

When it happened, Anna and Kitty were upstairs, singing Mitya to sleep, a soft harmony. The cry came from outside. The voice of a peasant woman, calling to Konstantin. They both heard it; couldn't help but hear it.

 

"It's Count Vronsky, sir! He's come!"


	4. Nocturne

Kitty froze. Anna went on singing, as if she had not heard, or not quite understood what she had heard.

 

"Anna." Kitty spoke in a whisper.

 

The singing trailed off.

 

"Anna, he's come to get you."

 

Anna was deathly pale, now, the reality of it sinking its claws into her heart. "How did he know to come here?"

 

"Someone must have told him."

 

"I left a letter, at the house in Moscow. In case he ever came back, though he has a new mistress now, may get married..." Anna paused. "I told him I was ill, that I was going to the spas in Saint-Moritz." Anna winced. "He didn't believe me."

 

"Someone told him to come here, Anna."

 

"And what are we to do? He thinks I have left with someone, perhaps that Konstantin has taken me, or that there is some lover hidden here with me... For all his own lack of faithfulness, he is a jealous man. A hypocrite..."

 

"We must go. We cannot let him take you. God knows what he will do if he finds you..." Kitty bit her lip.

 

"And what? Leave poor Kostya to confront him? There will be a duel, death..." Mitya began to cry. Anna rocked him softly in her arms.

 

"Kostya is a reasonable man. He is kind, and knows to be diplomatic. He will convince him to forgive you, to forget."

 

Anna shook her head. "You do not know Alexey. I asked him to forget, too. At the beginning, and later on, as well... He will not, he is stubborn."

 

Kitty shivered. They had never talked so openly about these things before, always avoided mentioning his name. "But his new mistress -"

 

"I am his prize. An impossible conquest. He may not love me anymore, but he wants me on display." There was a scornful curl in Anna's lip, a look of blatant contempt on her face that surprised Kitty.

 

Beyond the darkening frame of the window, the sound of a carriage approaching could be heard, a horse whinnying.

 

Kitty grabbed Anna's wrist, sudden and desperate. She spoke quickly, breathlessly. "Anna, we have talked too long. We have no time. We must go; trust me... Get blankets, coats, anything we need. I have some money with me. I'll fetch a loaf of bread from the kitchen... We must leave out the back door, get the troika ready and go, as fast as we can. Kostya will keep the Count waiting. He will understand."

 

And it was all going too quickly to resist the flow; so Anna did as she was told. Gently, she settled a sleeping Mitya into his cradle - Kostya would look after him. She gathered blankets and coats, hats and gloves. Winter was approaching, and there was frost on the grass in the mornings already; they would need everything she could carry.

 

She met Kitty silently at the door. The two slipped out, looking around to make sure the Count was nowhere in sight, and ran to the stables.

 

And then they were off at a gallop, the troika thumping along the country roads, their backs to the sunset.

 

"I talked to Zinaida in the kitchen," whispered Kitty. "She will ask to talk to Kostya about her work, will say it's urgent. She will tell him to say you are at a cure in Switzerland, like you told me; and that I am in Moscow. As far as the Count is to know, this carriage is driven by peasants, carrying beets and carrots to the market. We will not be pursued."

 

Anna was struck by this, and struggled to come up with a response. Kitty was no longer a child, she realized. And what a brilliant woman she had become.

 

"Still, it's better to go quickly, just in case. The Count may be suspicious. I do not trust him."

 

"Thank you," Anna breathed at last. "I would be lost without you."

 

Kitty only smiled. "It's nothing."

 

"Where do you plan take us?"

 

"I'm not all too sure, unless you have an idea. Away, anyhow, somewhere you can be safe... we'll stop in some town or other, when we're tired."

 

Anna laughed, and remarked jokingly on how romantic it all was. "Isn't it so strange? You, taking me away from him in your carriage... You're so brave, so heroic. My Ivanhoe. My knight in shining armor." She sighed dramatically, posing as if in an opera.

 

Kitty only blushed, pretended to be busy with the horses, something tangled in the reins.

 

They rode for hours, not daring to stop for fear that Vronsky would appear in pursuit. Finally, both of them yawning and aching from bumping along the road so long, they saw a sign by the wayside, an inn - clean beds and warm breakfast in the morning. Lights blazed in the windows of a quaint-looking stone house behind a row of birches.

 

"We'll stop here for the night," murmured Kitty. Anna nodded.

 

The innkeepers, husband and wife, were warm and welcoming, and offered them tea and biscuits and cakes, and marvelled at such beautiful young girls - "You flatter me," Anna laughed - travelling so late at night.

 

"It's an elopement," joked Anna.

 

"Oh, is it? How scandalous! And who is the lucky gentleman?"

 

Kitty only shook her head, smiling. "Don't listen to her. We are going to a cousin's wedding, and we want to get there quickly," she explained. "We mustn't be late!"

 

And the innkeepers - none too curious, when it came down to it, as to what exactly had brought them here - simply nodded, and wished happiness to the bride and groom.

 

"There is only one room left," the wife, grey-haired and kindly, pointed out when they had finished their tea. "I hope that's alright."

 

"Oh, we don't mind at all," smiled Anna, waving it off. "We can't be picky, so late at night. We can only thank you for your hospitality."

 

The room was cozy and pretty, with a warm fire and thick ceiling beams and flowers on the tables, dark wood and an old, broad canopy bed. Anna and Kitty washed their faces and untied their dresses, and lay down under welcoming blankets, sighing with relief.

 

"I hope Mitya's alright," whispered Kitty in the dark.

 

"I'm sure he's just fine." Anna turned on her side to face Kitty, a soft silhouette and nothing more. "Kostya will take good care of him."

 

"Oh, Kostya... He is a good man, and a wonderful father. I could not have hoped for a better husband."

 

"You warm my heart, both of you. You are so genuine, so kind to each other. Sometimes I think yours is the only love that exists."

 

Kitty was silent for a moment. "Kostya says things like that too, sometimes."

 

"You don't agree?" Anna curious.

 

"I don't know." The words barely spoken, barely more than a breath. "I think there must be more than one love in the world. That there's more than one love in a person's heart."

 

"Maybe that is the right way to think about it. I thought the Count was the only love I would ever have. My great love. And look how that's turned out."

 

A pause. "I'm sorry."

 

"Don't be, you have done too much for me already."

 

"I wish I could do more."

 

"You're very sweet." Kitty couldn't see Anna smile, but could hear it in her voice. "You are far better than I am."

 

"Not better," protested Kitty. "Only luckier."

 

Anna sighed. "Perhaps." A moment's thought, then: "I was eighteen, too, when I married Alexey. But it was not love, not ever. We had... bouts of tenderness, perhaps, but we were both so cold to each other all the time. Always talking to the wall behind each others' heads. He is a kind man - it is not him I blame - but our union was impossible. It made me wretched. Now, looking at you and Kostya... it is so lovely. It gives me hope."

 

"What for?" Kitty glad to hear such things, delighted more than anything.

 

"Hope?" Anna sighed again. "Oh, I don't know. For happiness."

 

"Oh, I hope for that too. For your happiness."

 

"You are so lovely, Kitty. What would I do without you?" And, reaching forward in the dark, she kissed Kitty on the cheek, softly.

 

Long silence. Soft breathing. Slow rise and fall of chests.

 

"Anya."

 

"Yes?"

 

"May I... could I tell you something?"

 

"Of course."

 

"Promise you won't laugh at me."

 

Smiling into the dark. "I promise."

 

Kitty hesitated. "Ever since I met you..." trailed off. "Ever since I met you, I have had the deepest tenderness in my heart for you... For years... I have looked up at you and thought, oh, how lucky I am to have known you... I was so worried for you, and now I am so happy, and I can only thank you." She paused there, gathering her courage to go on.

 

"You musn't thank me... I owe you too much," Anna whispered.

 

"No, it is I who owes you... You make me feel so lovely. When you smile... I feel somehow that my heart... has been polished, and is shining, like a brass kettle."

 

"Oh, Kitty..."

 

"Anya... I suppose what I am trying to tell you is - everyone I know had always liked you terribly, even from the first glance, and I am no different. I am saying that... I must confess... like so many others before me..." A final intake of breath. "I am horribly, completely... pathetically in love with you."

 

Anna didn't know how to respond, didn't know what to say. It was all so unexpected. So she only reached out, and cupped Kitty's soft cheek in her hand.

 

"You are too young to love me," Anna whispered.

 

"What difference does it make?" Kitty spoke very softly, slowly.

 

"You love Kostya."

 

"What difference does it make? I love Kostya and I love you, and Mitya, and the farm, and the city, and Spring and Summer and Fall and even Winter... I love it all. My heart was made to love."

 

Anna nodded in the dark. Spoke slowly. "I understand. Yes, I understand..."

 

A pause. Then Kitty, smiling - "You looked ravishing today."

 

Anna laughed. "I was only in a peasant's dress. But thank you."

 

"I love you." Kitty laughed, too, hearing herself say it, and said it again: "I love you. I love you. I've said it. I'm so glad I've said it..."

 

And that's when Anna pressed her lips to Kitty's, and everything was changed forever.

 

Anna pressed her lips to Kitty's, and hands were stroking cheeks and combing through soft hair. Lips against lips and necks and jawlines, shoulders and collarbones. Too close, and they couldn't bear to be apart, bodies intertwined, eyelids fluttering, breaths quickening, entanglement and exhilaration.

 

And the whole world seemed to fall away and leave only the two of them there, in a soft bed under sweet-smelling blankets in the center of the vast universe, skin and bones spun into constellations, faces full of light. Clinging to each other. Angels, flung into space.


	5. The Arrangement

When morning came, the two began to plot.

 

They both knew that the story of the spa cure wouldn't be enough to keep Vronsky off their trail for long, not after he'd already come all the way to the Levins'. They needed something better. Something serious. Something final.

 

"He won't ever leave me alone. Not until I'm dead," Anna sighed, shaking her head.

 

"Well then, we'll have to make him believe you are." Even Kitty was surprised at how easily the idea came to her.

 

"Dead?"

 

The plan they devised would take luck. It would take charm. It would take dedication.

 

"You'll never be able to show your face in Petersburg ever again," Kitty warned.

 

"I'm a ruined woman as it is. It's just as well," Anna laughed, but Kitty knew she was being sincere.

 

They wrote letters. They wrote to Konstantin, of course, and Alexey Karenin. And Stiva, too - "But he'll talk, Anna!" "But he's my brother!" - and a friend or two from Petersburg, but not too many, and nobody who might speak to Vronsky too often. And they informed them of the plan.

 

Konstantin wrote back with news of Vronsky's whereabouts: he had gone back to Moscow, but was expecting Anna back within a week, and ready to go to Switzerland himself if she didn't arrive on time; he had done his best to buy them a few days. Karenin wrote back saying such a plan was all folly and idiocy, but that he would help if they'd like, with the legal records and such. The Oblonskys wrote back baffled and amazed.

 

If they went quickly enough, it would all be on time. A letter addressed to Saint-Moritz, had Konstantin sent one, would arrive in a few days. Then a carriage ride to the station, and afterwards the journey from Bern to Warsaw, where the train stopped... Kitty tried to remember how long it had taken her, when she had been to the waters. They would have to time it all very precisely.

 

Kitty knew someone at the station in Warsaw, she explained. A good woman, honest, hardworking. A friend of Konstantin's brother's. She'd seen her twice - once at Nikolai's funeral, where she had been solemn and silent; and once when she had stopped at their estate for the night, on her way to some business or other in Petersburg. Then she had been loud and boisterous, fiery and full of conversation. They would ask for her help. She would tell them who to talk to, where to go, how to set everything up - she would know.

 

They dressed in coats Anna had taken from the peasants' quarters in her rush, and ate quickly. As she was paying for their room and board, Kitty asked the matronly woman who had welcomed them the night before for directions to the nearest train station.

 

"The closest is in Petersburg," she said, pensive, "but if you're going South, you might as well go down to Gatchina. It's hardly an hour from here - just follow that road." She gestured out the window. Kitty nodded, and thanked her for everything; and the two of them mounted the troika and went.

 

The journey was uneventful, for the most part. They paid to stable their horses in Gatchina, and took the first train Westward. They were cautious, making sure not to be recognized. They refined their plans, going through every detail until they both had it memorised to the letter. During the day they drank tea, and laughed together. At night, they slept in each other's arms. Let anyone who noticed their intimacy think them to be cousins, or sisters, or whatever suited them.

 

It took them three days, in all, to get to Warsaw.

 

Once there, everything was a blur. Kitty took Anna's hand, and they wove through the crowds on the platform and down a flight of grimy stairs into the underbelly of the station. There, everything was work, and sweat, shovels and crates and coal dust. Kitty asked around and soon enough they found her - Zoya, who had been the friend of Nikolai Levin, short and bony but gruff-looking. Her skin was pale, but her hands were coated in the jet-black grime of coal. She had pretty green eyes and a tough jaw, her hair in a tight bun, wearing a pair of men's overalls tied with a rope around her skinny waist.

 

She was thrilled to see Kitty, smiling wide, her dirt-smeared cheeks shining.

 

"Goodness! I wasn't expecting you! What in Hell's name are you doing down here?" She laughed, heartily. "And who's this?"

 

So Kitty explained, and Anna nodded curtly every once in a while, and finally covered her face in shame at all the trouble she had caused.

 

"Hey, don't get all wrought up about it!" Zoya put a hand on Anna's shoulder and smiled, kindly. "I know what it's like. Men, men, men. But I can help you! I know exactly where to go - you'll have to talk to Olya from the kitchens for the pig's blood, and Sacha for wood chips to fill the sacks - and I'll set it all up myself! We'll have it ready by the time the next train goes by, yes ma'am!"

 

Anna was moved, found it difficult to speak. Everything aristocratic in her was begging her to refuse the offer, knowing it was too much - too much! But where else could she turn? She couldn't bear to go back to that awful house and wait for that man who didn't love her anymore, who cared only for his own pride and a new mistress every month - that man! Yes, that would truly be too much. She remembered the state she had been in, those weeks alone before Kitty had come for her.

 

"Please, tell me," she breathed, eyes glistening with gratitude. "Tell me, what can I do for you? How could I repay you?"

 

Zoya shrugged. "Don't worry about it, missus. I'm happy enough just to help you out, and you're clearly needing a hand."

 

Anna shook her head. "Please, let me thank you, somehow..."

 

"I told you, don't fret about it. Or, well, if you must - I suppose I might ask for a kiss on the cheek from a pretty woman such as yourself..." A laugh, a glint in the eye, and Anna bent down and kissed her on both cheeks. Zoya laughed. "Now look what I've done - you've got coal all over you."

 

"Are you sure I can't give you anything more? I haven't got my purse with me now, but I have a brother, with money and land; and my husband..."

 

"No-o-o!" Zoya cut her off, wagging a coal-blackened finger. "I'm not that kind of girl. A kiss and a smile and I'll be just fine."

 

Anna blushed, then, and smiled shyly.

 

And so the plan was put into action. Burlap sacks were filled with sawdust. Anna handed over a dress she had brought with her, lumpily covering the sacks; then Zoya loaded all of it into a cart, and filled the cart with coal to keep it hidden. They gathered the knife-sharpener and the sweet-seller, and mapped out a perfect collision - the distraction. Meanwhile, one of the coal boys, a skin-and-bones kid, nodded along as Zoya explained how to dart in and wrench the sawdust marionette from the cart, and fling it under the tracks unnoticed. An equally skinny girl, who seemed to appear from nowhere, was given her own instructions, along with a bucket full of pig's blood.

 

And then, almost too soon, the hour had come. Anna and Kitty drew their shawls over their heads, afraid they might be recognized, and left the station, planning on staying the night before leaving Poland in the morning. Separate trains - Kitty to Moscow, to keep up their alibi; and Anna back to Gatchina, and then to drive back to the Levins'.

 

They found a room in an inn, and waited with hearts pounding for news from the station.

The execution was flawless. Zoya came to tell them about it herself - how real it had looked, the shadows falling just right; and how the sweet-seller had rung his bell like a madman and the knife-sharpener had called out for everyone to leave the area before anybody could get too close a look at it. Someone had even fainted on the platform, she gushed: it was perfect.

 

Anna Karenina was dead.

 

Yes, everything was as it should have been. The funeral was planned immediately. The casket would be closed - of course, after such mutilation. Karenin had even offered, in his letter, to pursue Vronsky in court for driving his wife to suicide - and Anna had nearly broken into tears when she read those words, though she and Kitty had agreed that it might not be wise, for Karenin's sake and for their own.

 

That night, sleeping again in the same room, Anna held Kitty's hand, and was oddly silent.

 

"Is something wrong, Anya?" Kitty whispered.

 

"It's just so morbid, you know?" A sigh. "My funeral, you're writing invitations for my funeral... And I feel so guilty. All this for my sake." A tear might have rolled down Anna's cheek, but it was too dark to tell.

 

"You're alive, and you're going to go home and be with us... That's all that counts. Trust me."

 

"Listen, Kitty... I need you to know. Today, on that platform, I saw myself die - I saw what could have been my death. The weeks before you came for me, in that carriage at midnight... Those were the darkest weeks of my life. I... God forgive me... I was ready to slit my wrists, hang myself, anything. All it would have taken was one last thing - a letter, a word, even a look... I am so, so lucky you came before it happened."

 

"Oh, Anya."

 

"I am so lucky," she repeated, and cupped Kitty's face, and kissed her softly on the lips.

 

"I will not see you until after the funeral," Kitty whispered.

 

"I know." Anna smiled. "But it won't be long. And then I will be free. We'll both be."

 

"Yes." Kitty smiled back, and Anna felt it more than she saw it in the dark, heard the brush of Kitty's cheek against the pillow.

 

"It's so strange, but I feel somehow that this is the beginning of my life, Kitty," sighs Anna. "All I ever wanted. The beginning of what life was supposed to be."

 

"How was it supposed to be?" Kitty was delighted, curious. "Tell me what it's going to be like."

 

"Oh, we'll be together... and we'll go out all the time, and eat sweet things no matter the season," Anna whispered. "And Kostya will be there, and Mitya will grow tall and strong and lively, and we'll all sit and watch the sun set. And Alexey will come with the children, and they will play together. And we will watch them, and be happy."

 

"That's beautiful," sighed Kitty.

 

"You're beautiful." Anna said it lightly, but meant it. Giggles and kisses.

 

A pause.

 

"It will be so strange, so strange to be there," whispered Kitty. "The funeral, I mean."

 

"It is so strange to talk about it," Anna whispered back, shaking her head.

 

"It is strange. All of it."

 

"It is."

 

"Do you love it?" Kitty was smiling again.

 

"What?" Anna tilted her head dreamily, not thinking, wanting only to talk a little longer, to lie like this a little longer.

 

"Just... this. Life. The strangeness of it all."

 

"Do I love it?"

 

"Yes."

 

Both of them breathing gently, sounds of outside, sounds of themselves. Everything warm. Soft. _Did she love it?_

 

"Of course," she whispered. "Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> in case anyone is interested in why i chose this title [this](https://digitalrepository.trincoll.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1046&context=trinitypapers) is a really interesting article about the symbolism of lilac in anna karenina with respect to domestic/romantic happiness!
> 
> looking for more gay tolstoy content? try my tumblr [@tolstayas](https://tolstayas.tumblr.com/)


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